


Run don't walk

by dancinguniverse



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr suggested "the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear," and I live to serve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run don't walk

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on tumblr a while back (I have the same name everywhere if you feel like stalking me across platforms), I'm just importing some works that felt long enough to be worth posting here.

Dick steps into the stairwell and pulls his apartment door shut behind him. The fire alarm is shrieking loudly, and he feels half deaf already. He’s yanking a sweatshirt over his head when he turns, bumping hard into another resident doing the same thing. They stumble against one another, arms clumsy and hands tangled in their sleeves, and Dick reaches out automatically to catch the other man, fingers sliding against the bare skin on the inside of his elbow.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and the man blinks stupidly at him a few times, regaining his feet.

Dick’s seen him once or twice when they’ve crossed paths in the parking lot, but he hadn’t known the man occupied the unit next to his. He’s absurdly attractive, and Dick’s a bit embarrassed to find that maybe even more true at the moment. His hair is tousled, eyes cloudy and confused, his five o’clock shadow threatens to take over his lower face — and he’s not wearing any pants. Dick hurriedly pulls his eyes back to face level. The boxers, he can tell from the corners of his eyes, are blue with puffy white clouds. He thinks. He’s not looking, of course.

“Crap, sorry,” the man finally mumbles, and takes his arm back to poke it clumsily through the sleeve of his hoodie. “I think I’m still asleep,” he offers, and yawns widely as if to prove his point.

“It’s late,” Dick agrees, and puts his hand to the man’s shoulder, guiding him lightly towards the stairs. “Hopefully it’s just a false alarm.”

“Maybe it’s a drill?” the man asks hopefully, taking the steps slowly at first, picking up the pace once he gets the rhythm down.

“I don’t think they do drills at two am.” Not to mention the acrid smell billowing out of the unit across from Dick’s and two floors down. Dick wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“Popcorn,” his neighbor says in disgust. “That is the smell of burning popcorn. Jesus, am I back in my college dorm?”

Dick hums sympathetically. “I’m sure they’ll get it cleared up soon.”

He stops short when the man abruptly pauses on the step below him. “I can just go back to sleep,” he realizes aloud.

“We’re supposed to clear the building,” Dick points out. His hand is still on the man’s shoulder, and he’d wonder why neither of them has noticed, but he’s too busy applying just enough pressure to be a hint.  _Keep moving._

“It’s popcorn.” The scorn is evident in his voice. “I’m not going to die in my sleep from burnt popcorn.”

“You’re not going to sleep at all with the alarm still going off,” Dick responds mildly, and shoves him a bit harder.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of sleeping through,” is the retort, but he starts walking again, and they make it to the ground floor a moment later, joining a small crowd of fellow residents. They push out the main doors and into the chilly November night. The piercing screams from the smoke detectors are mercifully softened in the open air.

“Christ, it’s cold,” the man yelps, balking again and backpedaling, and once more they collide, the man’s shoulders bumping up against Dick’s chest. Dick catches himself with both hands on the shoulders in front on him. They’re broad and warm, despite the man’s complaint, and Dick shivers too, the light wind going right through his cotton sweatshirt. He untangles their feet and once more pushes his neighbor in front of him, into the parking lot and away from the crowd gathering in a sleepy mob on the building’s front walk.

“I’m not wearing any pants!” the man exclaims suddenly, as if only now realizing it, and Dick presses his lips together, trying to hide a smile. 

“Christ,” the man mutters, looking down at himself and his scant cover — definitely clouds, Dick can now verify — and then tugging his hoodie lower, stomping his feet against the cold and rubbing his arms. “Why the hell didn’t you say something? Were you trying to be polite, or too busy enjoying the view?” His voice is brassy with sarcasm, but it hits close to home, and Dick winces.

“Both?” he offers, before he can think to prevaricate.

His neighbor stops his flailing and stares at Dick, eyes wide and dark, mouth parted slightly in surprise. Dick feels himself turning red. “Well,” he says after a minute. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick says, looking away first. “Really, that was incredibly inappropriate, I just met you —”

“No, it’s fine, I’m just —” he blows out a breath, and it steams a little in the late autumn night. “I’m really cold,” he admits.

They stand awkwardly for a moment, and Dick risks looking back up. “I have my keys. You could wait in my truck. I could wait too, but I have a sweatshirt, so if you’re not comfortable…” he trails off, tongue tied and embarrassed. 

He digs in his pocket, then holds out his keys. After a minute, the man reaches out, curling his fingers around the keys, but his thumb around Dick’s fingers, trapping them in place. “I’m Lewis Nixon. Nix.”

“Dick Winters.” He doesn’t take his hand back.

“Well, come on, Dick. Let’s warm up.”


End file.
